


Kiss From A Rose

by el3anorrigby



Series: Kiss From A Rose [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Protective Illya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 22:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4763516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3anorrigby/pseuds/el3anorrigby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As he opened the door to his office, he almost expected to see Napoleon at his desk, greeting him with his famous smirk. But he wasn’t there.</p><p>The story where Illya is missing Napoleon, a little bit more than he'd expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss From A Rose

Illya and Gaby were standing before Waverly’s desk. He was briefing them on they new assignment. 

“It’s a fairly simple mission. Get the personnel to the extraction point and then get out. Both you and Miss Teller would be able to handle this. Our backups will be on standby at the designated places,” Waverly explained as he handed them the dossiers. 

Illya glanced through the file and looked at Waverly.

“You want to smuggle American fugitive out of semi hostile environment. Take him to secure area.”

It was more of a statement from Illya rather than a question. Waverly nodded in response.

“Yes, Kuryakin. And don’t worry. He’s a friendly so he will cooperate with us. Read the dossiers.”

Gaby who was by his side glanced at Illya. His face wore a somewhat quizzical look. Something or rather someone was missing from the equation. And that person was also conspicuously absent from their briefing. She could guess what Illya was going to say next. 

“What about Solo?” 

“What about Solo?” Waverly repeated Illya’s question. Illya didn’t say anything for a moment. He had expected Waverly to understand why he had asked the question but Waverly only returned Illya’s quizzical expression. 

“Kuryakin? What about Solo?”

“He won’t be in mission?” Illya asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him. 

“No. He wouldn’t.”

Well that was abrupt, Illya thought, almost hating Waverly’s rather dismissive tone. He looked at the file in his hand and then he threw another glance at Waverly. He didn’t look like he was in the mood to entertain Illya nor was he inclined to explain further. And Waverly didn’t need to as far as he was concerned. The only thing he was interested in was for his team to get their job done. 

“Anything else, Mr. Kuryakin? Miss Teller?” he questioned his two agents. “Will there be a problem?”

“No, sir,” Gaby replied, shaking her head. “We’ve got this.”

She then quickly dragged Illya out of Waverly’s office before he could say anything else.

***

By seven o’clock that evening, Illya still hadn’t seen or heard from Napoleon. He had cleared his paperwork and had packed everything he needed for the mission even though their trip to Berlin won’t be for another day. He liked his preparations early. He had his early dinner, cleaned the kitchen and now was sitting on a chair by his bedroom window with his feet up on a footstool. He was making some notes about their coming mission. Every now and then though he would stop his scribbling and drummed the pencil in his hand against the windowsill. As he watched the goings on outside of his apartment building, he wondered where Napoleon was. 

***

It was already midnight and Illya still could not sleep. He wanted to call Gaby again. He had done so a couple of times earlier until she had given him an earful during their last conversation.

“For the last time Illya, I don’t know where he is!” Gaby had exclaimed. “And Waverly would not tell me anything either. I did try asking him, you know.”

“I’ve tried checking Solo’s tracker but nothing came up. Cowboy must have known where I hid the bugs,” Illya had admitted. He’d failed to mask the disappointment in his voice.

“Don’t worry, Illya. I’m sure Solo’s fine.”

Gaby’s reassurance somehow had not worked. That had been an hour ago. 

“Where the hell are you, Cowboy?” he wondered as he tossed and turned on his bed. Why won’t Waverly tell them where Napoleon was? Could he be in some kind of trouble? It was killing Illya. In normal circumstances, he wouldn’t care too much about his partner’s whereabouts, because he almost always knew where he would be. He had his trackers. Unfortunately, not this time for Illya. And the nature of Waverly’s secrecy made Illya worry even more. In fact, he was worrying too much for his liking. 

By three a.m., Illya finally succumbed to sleep. 

***

He arrived at U.N.C.L.E’s headquarters the next morning a little bit groggy thanks to his lack of sleep. He saw Gaby at her office. She shook her head indicating she hadn’t seen or heard from Napoleon still. Illya nodded and then made his way towards his own office, a small room which he shared with Napoleon. It was furnished with a persian rug over the standard business carpet and one leather couch was placed against the main feature wall. Their desks faced each other in which Napoleon’s was by the window. They had fought for the spot like little children in which Napoleon was triumphant leaving Illya to take the one by the door. 

“You are a petty American,” Illya had grumbled at Napoleon’s victory smile when he’d gotten his way. “Suck it up, Peril,” had been Napoleon’s reply in his typical infuriating manner. Their banters always got to Illya. And now that Napoleon wasn’t there, Illya was actually missing it, missing _him_.

The last Illya had seen Napoleon was after they’d returned from their last mission together in Marseille. It was a favour Waverly had owed the CIA. They’d been ordered to secure a disk containing a list of CIA safe house locations which had been stolen by a couple of rogue agents. And who better to steal it back but Napoleon himself, a former master thief working for the CIA? Illya wondered whether Napoleon’s disappearance, if one would call it that, had any connection to that particular mission. But it had been successful enough. Or had he overlooked something? They’d been given a couple of days off after their return and Napoleon was supposed to have reported for duty yesterday. But he hadn’t returned and now the questions in Illya’s head wouldn’t go away. 

As he opened the door to his office, he almost expected to see Napoleon at his desk, greeting him with his famous smirk. But he wasn’t there. Illya felt a sudden urge to march into Waverly’s office, demanding to get some answers, perhaps he would talk if he threatened him, when the phone on his desk suddenly rang. He picked it up at once.

“Hello?”

“Illya?”

His eyes widened instantaneously. He recognised that voice anywhere. “Cowboy? Where the hell have you been?” he asked in a rather panicked voice.

“Missing me already?” 

If Napoleon was in front of him Illya would have probably punched him in the face. He should be so lucky Illya’s worry was surpassing Napoleon’s efforts in trying to annoy him. 

“Where are you?” he tried again. 

“I can’t really say, Peril,” Napoleon replied. His voice was calm indicating he wasn’t in danger. 

“If you cannot tell me then why are you calling me?” Illya hissed into the phone. 

“I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Illya’s heart skipped a beat at hearing that. He knew Napoleon was a man of many talents. Infuriating the daylights out of him certainly topped that list. 

“This is no time to joke, Solo. Tell me where you are,” Illya demanded in a quite controlled manner. Truthfully, he wasn’t really angry at him. He just wanted to see him and know that he was safe. 

“I’ll explain later. I’ll see you tonight at your place. Eight o’clock.”

With that Napoleon hung up before Illya could say anything else. His agitation doubled over. 

***

The knocking on his front door made Illya jumped out of his skin. He checked his father’s wristwatch. It was eight o’clock and Napoleon was right on cue. Illya immediately opened the door and there he was, Napoleon Solo standing by his door, large as life with a smile on his face. Illya’s initial reaction was to chastise him for his act of disappearance, for his lack of courtesy of not letting his partner know of his whereabouts. He wanted to reprimand him severely. Illya had rehearsed everything he’d wanted to say in his head. But then he saw the cut on his lip, his bruised right cheek and the more evident gauze bandage right above his left eyebrow. 

“What happened to you?” Illya croaked. Napoleon only shrugged as he walked pass Illya into his living room. He slid his jacket off and threw it on a nearby chair. Illya walked up to him after he’d closed the door. 

“You know, you could have checked first before you open that front door,” Napoleon began in a rather serious manner. “Don’t let your guard down.”

“I knew it was you,” Illya defended himself despite having to admit Napoleon was right. He had been too eager to see him. But that little mistake didn’t matter, not at that moment. His real concern was Napoleon.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Illya asked again, letting his worry for Napoleon show. His eyes were narrowed together.

They stared at each other for a moment. Napoleon had made himself comfortable on Illya’s couch. He then gestured for Illya to take a seat beside him which the Russian eventually did.

“It was a covert operation Waverly had me do,” he began to explain. “It needn't involve you or Gaby. It was simple enough. I get the job done. I’ll do it again if I have to.”

“Simple enough to get yourself injured?” Illya asked, gesturing at his forehead and his bruised cheek. There clearly was tension in his voice. Napoleon didn’t miss it. 

“But I’m alive, aren’t I?” he retorted. Illya narrowed his eyes to that. 

To be fair, Napoleon was indeed alive and he had suffered far worse injuries before as compared to this but it wasn’t the point Illya was trying to make. Just for a fleeting moment, Illya wondered when the American agent sitting beside him had become so important that he would actually worry at the thought of losing him? 

“Does this covert mission has to do something with CIA?” Illya asked again.

“Perhaps? I can’t explain anymore, Peril,” Napoleon replied. 

Illya wanted to ask more but he decided it could wait till later.

“I asked Waverly about you. When he briefed me and Gaby about our next mission but he would not say anything,” Illya said, changing the topic at hand. “Perhaps he was afraid I might break a few things in his nice big office if I had known about your covert mission. If I had known about this.”

He was referring to Napoleon’s injuries of course, gesturing in particular at his injured forehead. Napoleon only chuckled.

“It’s just a nasty gash, Peril.”

“You sure you don’t want to tell me? About this covert mission of yours?” Illya tried again only for Napoleon to shake his head.

“Maybe later after I’m well and fully rested,” Napoleon replied with a small quirk on his lips. He then leaned back against the cushion and closed his eyes. His hands were on his lap, fingers laced together. Illya watched him for a moment, suppressing reaction. He looked tired, Illya thought. Suddenly he had the urge to run his fingers through his hair and his traitorous mind wandered into dangerous territory. He wondered how it would feel to kiss those lips, that mouth. 

“Peril?”

Illya jumped at Napoleon’s voice. He still had his eyes closed. 

“What?” 

“Did you miss me while I was gone?”

“Gaby missed you,” Illya replied in a hurry. He got up from his seat and wondered if Napoleon had sensed him watching him earlier. Not wanting to dwell there, he disappeared quickly into the kitchen, missing Napoleon’s wide smirk as he watched the Russian leave. However, Napoleon didn’t miss how Illya’s ears had turned red at his teasing remark. 

“Illya?” he called out later when his partner had left him alone for too long. He could hear some rustling and wondered what Illya was up to. “What are you doing back there?”

“Hold on, Solo,” the Russian replied.

“Illya?” Napoleon asked again after barely a few seconds.

“What?” Illya answered, his annoyance apparent.

“You’re leaving tomorrow for Berlin?”

This time Illya poked his head out of the kitchen door. “You know we’re going to Berlin?” he questioned.

“I dropped by to see Waverly before I came here. He’d told me about it.”

There was silence again and Napoleon was about to get up, to check what was going on with his partner when Illya appeared with a mug of hot chocolate in hand. “Drink this. It is Russian hot chocolate, nice and warm.”

Napoleon gapped at Illya before giving him a puppy eyed look with slightly pouting lips. “You know it’d be nicer if you’d bring me some scotch.”

“No.”

“Vodka?” 

“Drink this,” Illya insisted. “Is good for you, Cowboy.”

Napoleon raised an eyebrow, took the mug off Illya’s hand and didn’t say much after that. 

***

Illya could not sleep that night. Though he was extremely exhausted, for a second night in a row his mind could not rest even if his body was craving for it. It was irritating him to no end. Napoleon had left hours ago and here he was lying on his bed, thoughts still on the American. He was going to Berlin tomorrow with Gaby and it would be the first time since they had worked together that Napoleon and him wouldn’t be on the same mission. He wondered why it bothered him so. They were professionals at what they do and he had always said ‘he worked better alone’, emphasising it even. But what’s happening now? What’s happening to himself? Had he gone soft? 

He turned to his side and forced himself to sleep. But Napoleon’s face kept popping in his head. It was frustrating. Recalling how helpless he had felt when he couldn’t get in touch with him, not knowing where he had been, made Illya a little ill. He had been genuinely worried even if it had only been for a few days. He would never want to imagine something bad happening to Napoleon. How would he react then? Illya groaned into the pillow, trying his best to erase those unpleasant thoughts. 

All of a sudden in his tired state of mind Illya wondered whether he was hearing things. But when he straightened himself and strained his ears to listen carefully, he was certain he could hear knocking on his front door. He grabbed his gun from underneath his night stand and moved cautiously towards the living room. Then he heard it again. And he immediately knew who it was. That secret code knock was reserved for him alone. 

“Solo, what are you doing here? Is something wrong?” Illya asked as soon as he’d opened the door. He lowered his gun to his side, concern clearly etched on his face. After he’d checked Napoleon was truly alone, he quickly pulled him inside before closing the door behind him. “Cowboy? You are scaring me.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Napoleon simply replied. He stared at Illya who was giving him an incredulous look. “You are here to tell me that? It’s three in the morning!”

Napoleon shrugged. “Have _you_ slept at all, Peril?”

Illya sighed then shook his head. “No, I could not sleep either.” Silence then ensued.

“Why are you really here?” Illya asked again after they’d made their way to the couch for the second time that night. It felt like deja vu.

“I think your hot chocolate kept me awake,” Napoleon joked.

Illya was not amused. “Please try again, Cowboy. Why are you here?”

Napoleon let out a small grin. “We need a remedy for our sleepless nights.” 

“Sleepless nights? It’s only been two nights for me,” Illya said. He blinked when Napoleon raised an eyebrow to that. “What?”

“You couldn’t sleep last night? Was it because you were worried about me?”

Hearing that Illya had a good mind to kick him out of his apartment but Napoleon being so close to him was clouding his better judgment. He hated it when Napoleon has the upper hand. “What are you doing, Solo? What is it that you really want?”

Napoleon fidgeted for a moment before letting out a huge groan. 

“Okay, you really want to know why I’m here?”

“Yes, of course. Tell me,” Illya frowned. He was still concerned about Napoleon. Perhaps during his covert mission, that blow to his head had done some pretty serious damage to his brain. Perhaps that’s why he’s acting so strange. 

“I’m jealous.”

“You what?” Illya asked, surprised. “Jealous of what?”

Napoleon leaned back against the couch. He was pouting again. “You’ll be going to Berlin with Gaby and I feel left out. What am I going to do while the both of you are galavanting together? Waverly asked me to get some rest but I don’t want to rest!” he whined like a petulant child.

Illya on the other hand simply stared at him in amazement.

“Peril? Did you hear what I said?”

There was an odd feeling in Illya’s chest. It was a mixture of happiness or perhaps wonderment, coupled with extreme annoyance looking at Napoleon’s behaviour right at that very moment. He was the only person that could get under Illya’s skin and at the same time, the only person who could make him feel giddy with something so indescribable, the only thing Illya could think of at that moment was to shut him up with a kiss. But thank goodness for Russian self control, he could still refrain himself from doing the unthinkable.

“Peril? Cat got your tongue?”

Napoleon blinked at Illya who was staring at him with an expression Napoleon certainly recognised. If he was drunk, he would take this opportunity and pulled Illya into a mind blowing kiss. But he couldn’t do that. Illya was his friend now and he didn’t want to ruin what they had built. 

“Is it wrong for me to be here?” Napoleon asked suddenly. “Should I leave?”

“It’s fine, Solo. Dont go,” Illya replied. It was like there was a jump in time because Napoleon didn’t realise when Illya’s fingers had started skimming the gauze on his forehead. He then brushed aside the strands of hair which had fallen across his forehead. The act was so full of care, Napoleon eyes fell shut at Illya’s touch. Then he felt those fingers drifted towards his cut lip and the bruise on his cheek. He winced slightly at the touch. When Napoleon opened his eyes, he saw Illya’s hands trembling slightly.

“Illya? What’s the matter?”

“You’re hurt,” he muttered, voice laced with worry, gesturing to Napoleon’s injury. “And I wasn’t there with you. To help you.” _To protect you_.

“Don’t worry,” Napoleon assured the Russian. “This is nothing.”

“What’s happening to us, Solo?” Illya asked suddenly. His hands had cupped Napoleon’s face in between them. 

“We’ve gone soft?” Napoleon joked again, his defence mechanism working, trying to relieve some of the built up tension but Illya was serious. 

“This is not time for jokes, Cowboy.”

“Okay, let me try again,” Napoleon said, his voice a tad serious than before but his lips still curled up into a little teasing smile. “But please, don’t punch me in the face when I do this.”

Before Illya could react, Napoleon leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his lips. His lips lingered on Illya’s for a while, lightly ghosting on it until Illya sighed and parted his lips to let Napoleon in. He seemed to struggle at first to keep his emotions in check, but then his fingers tightened in Napoleon’s hair on it’s own accord, pulling him closer, kissing him harder. Napoleon’s split lip hurt like hell, he even winced a couple of times, earning a concerned look from the Russian but he wasn’t going to let anything, let alone a little injury, stop him from kissing Illya.

What had been ambiguous previously between them was now starting to make sense to Illya. He understood now why he had been so anxious when Napoleon wasn’t around him, why he’d panicked when he couldn’t get a hold on him. Without him, Illya would simply be a meaningless entity without reality. And he would have to deal with that realisation soon enough.

***

They were on their flight to Berlin. Gaby was asleep next to him while Illya went through the dossier in his hand for one last time. Waverly had arranged for a contact to meet them at the airport once they landed and he will take them to their suite as planned. After he’d finished reading the files, he placed them inside his bag carefully. He leaned back and as he looked outside the window, he could see the lights from the city below indicating they were about to land soon. 

“Hey, chop shop girl. Wake up, we’re about to land,” Illya spoke as he nudged Gaby on the shoulder lightly. “You have enough sleep.”

She stifled a yawn and stretched in her seat. She glanced at Illya and rubbed a soothing hand on his arm. She knew Illya wanted to be anywhere but there. His heart was somewhere else.

“We’ll be back soon before you know it.”

Illya gave a little huff. He knew Gaby was reading his mind. He eyed her and shrugged. “It’s weird without Cowboy around.”

Gaby giggled. “You mean you miss him already?”

“Perhaps.” A small smile escaped his lips. Gaby then gave him an accusing look. 

“Did anything happen between you two last night? I saw Napoleon this morning and he looked like he didn’t have enough sleep and you, I called you several times and you didn’t answer, I practically had to drive like a mad woman to your apartment and drag you out of your bed. If not we would have missed this flight!”

Illya shrugged again, ignoring Gaby’s little lecture before looking out the window just as the plane touched down on the tarmac. He smiled to himself and wondered where Napoleon was.


End file.
